The Joys of Spare Time
by doowop
Summary: Chapter 4 up! The considerable gaps between Star Wars movies beg the question: Just what do they do in between? Well, here are some answers. Rated due to inappropriate language and mindless violence, both of which are extensively used.
1. Darth Polyester

The Joys of Spare Time

By Jax Wilensky

Chapter One: Darth Polyester

Setting: Pre-_Phantom Menace_

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Wars. Yupper-doodles.

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn strode purposefully through the bustling marketplace of Mos Espa, his eyes set on the end of the road. Obi-Wan Kenobi followed, somewhat less enthusiastic. His slightly eccentric master often took him on completely random missions to help completely random causes, and the Padawan assumed that this was no different. Despite this, however, Obi-Wan was still curious. 

He tapped Qui-Gon lightly on the shoulder. "Master?" he started inquisitively. As though he knew what his Padawan was going to say next, the Jedi said, "We are on a mission, my young Padawan learner, and an important one at that". "Oh?" Obi-Wan said, tactfully neglecting to mention the fact that they hadn't actually been assigned a mission (by the Jedi Council, at least). "And what is our mission, master?"

"To simultaneously bother and amuse the citizens of this planet", said Qui-Gon calmly, keeping a completely straight face. "Really", Obi-Wan said indignantly, "And how are we to do that, master?". "Watch and learn, my Padawan", Qui-Gon replied as he scanned the people milling around the various stored and stands.

Qui-Gon selected a short, thin humanoid with greasy purple hair, clad in a yellow polyester bodysuit, complete with pale fringe on the sleeves and legs. The Jedi beckoned to the man, who came forward with an expression of hungry interest. "Hello, friend", Qui-Gon said warmly, before stooping down from his considerable to the violet-haired man's level and whispering in his ear. Despite his sharp hearing, Obi-Wan barely heard the words his master spoke to the yellow-clad human.

"Your name is Darth Polyester", said Qui-Gon quietly. "My name is Darth Polyester", repeated Darth Polyester obediently.

Curious of his master's intentions, Obi-Wan cleared his mind, and looked to the Force for guidance, but it seemed that even it had no idea what the hell Qui-Gon was going to do next. The Force, being immensely frustrated by its inability to predict Qui-Gon's actions, decided it needed a vacation and went away for a little while.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon continued with his senseless humiliation of Darth Polyester. "Your name is Darth Polyester, and you lost your right testicle in a game of poker", he continued. Darth Polyester repeated the words dutifully. Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder.

"Your name is Darth Polyester; you lost your right testicle in a game of poker…" Qui-Gon said once again, trailing off for a moment before resuming, "And you want the whole galaxy to know it!"

At that, Darth Polyester dashed into the center of the road onto a large wooden platform, and stood with his head back and legs spread, bodysuit-fringe billowing dramatically in the breeze.

"**MY NAME IS DARTH POLYESTER! I LOST MY RIGHT TESTICLE IN A GAME OF POKER! AND I WANT THE WHOLE GALAXY TO KNOW IT**!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He then gave Qui-Gon a thumbs-up, grinning stupidly.

Now, while this outburst may not seem particularly earth(planet?)-shattering, one must consider the usual sounds on the planet of Corellia: aside from the occasional squabble over just how many credits a pickled bantha tongue was worth, the decibel level was never exactly sky-high (Nor was it ever caused by men with purple hair in yellow polyester suits screaming about their testicles, but whatever).

This highly odd declaration from Darth Polyester, unsurprisingly, sparked quite a reaction. The entire marketplace became deathly silent; in fact, the only sound to be heard was the dull thud of Obi-Wan repeatedly whacking his head against the wall of a building.

This period of awkward silence was immediately followed by a smattering of murmurs amongst the crowd. A woman wearing what looked like a bird on her head could be heard instructing her infant child that he would be left out of her will if he _ever_ wore such a "hideous getup" in public. The baby smiled and gurgled, but his mother didn't understand baby language, which was rather fortunate for her, because the translation was "_Just watch me, biatch_".

Looking immensely pleased with himself, Darth Polyester hopped down from the platform, just as activity began to resume. He strode towards Qui-Gon and his Padawan, but stopped abruptly at the unmistakable sound of a large rampaging animal of some kind.

And a large rampaging animal it was indeed; a very angry bantha came stampeding through the barely-recovered crowd, bowling over all in its way. And one of those in its way was the most unfortunate Darth Polyester, who, still more unfortunately, had such a fear of banthas that he was frozen to the spot

Stepping in boldly, Obi-Wan tried to remove Darth Polyester from the line of fire via the Force. The Force, however, was still on vacation, so Darth Polyester was mercilessly run over and then disemboweled.

The two Jedi would later learn that the bantha was upset because its tongue had been severed, pickled, and then haggled over (in its presence, no less!).

Surveying the carnage, Qui-Gon turned swiftly on his heel and beckoned to his Padawan, who followed silently, rather slack-jawed and with a large lump on his head.

"Let us leave, Obi-Wan. Mission accomplished".

* * *

A/N: So, yeah. Seems I'm rather rusty with my writing in general. 

Blahhhhhh!

RIP, Darth Polyester. We never knew ye.

I'll update soon. Or, I'll try to update soon. It depends on how clingy I get to my soon-to-come Phantom of the Opera DVD.


	2. Destiny's Boot

The Joys of Spare Time

**By:** Jax Wilensky

**Chapter 2:** Destiny's Boot

**Setting:** Post-PM, Pre-AotC. Anakin's 9, Obi-Wan's 25.

**Disclaimer:** Pshaw. Do you honestly think I own Star Wars? Is this even really necessary? Anywhoo, on with the show…fanfic….thing. Yeah.

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm gonna try and get chapter 3 up as well before I leave for camp, where I will post also if I can get my paws on a computer. So, yeah. Thanks to my lovely reviewers:

**Free2bfroody:** Thank you! D

**Randomidiot:** Hah, that's a good idea…maybe I'll use it in this fic….who knows?

* * *

Anakin Skywalker, even from early childhood, had always been fascinated by Jedi. Along with this interest came a longing that, while shared by nearly every child in the galaxy, burned particularly strong in the boy: to wield a lightsaber.

The attraction was easily justified: lightsabers were elegant, efficient, and, more aesthetically, hella cool-looking.

This was why, when given his first chance to perform a (lightsaber!-) sparring exercise with Obi-Wan, Anakin's first reaction was to scream shrilly, right in his master's ear. A window shattered, a cat yowled, and someone complained about his ears bleeding.

Obi-Wan handled this remarkably well, with a wince and strained smile. He then forcibly closed his Padawan's gaping mouth and stuck the lightsaber into his hand.

Ignoring the stares of others around them, the Jedi said to his apprentice, "Let us begin, Anakin. Activate your lightsaber".

Anakin heeded. A large grin spread across his face as it extended, illuminating his already glowing face. It was, truly, love at first sight.

Obi-Wan drew his weapon, and switched it on. "Let's start off simple. Just show me what you know from Qui-Gon and Master Yoda".

Anakin took two eager steps towards his master before beginning the first of the many complex moves he had seen performed before. Perhaps, however, the apprentice was a tad too eager, as, on the first twirl of his saber, he accidentally dropped it on Obi-Wan's booted foot.

* * *

_((Several Days Earlier))_

_'_They're a bit big…_' Thought Obi-Wan critically, studying the shiny nerf hide boots on his feet. His previous pair had simply died of old age, and while he had rather liked them, he knew it was time for new ones. _

_The pair he had found in the bright, airy shop was the same make as his beloved late boots, but alas, they were rather big. _

_After much deliberation (or as much deliberation as is possible when the subject is a pair of boots), the Jedi decided to buy the slightly oversized pair. _

_They seemed to call out to him, almost. In a booty sort of way._

_He extracted from a pouch on his belt the correct amount of money for the odd boots, and left with them on his feet._

Anakin's lightsaber sliced cleanly through the boot until it hit the sole, which it promptly began melting.

The little blonde boy looked up at his master's face, horrified at the travesty he might have just committed.

"**ARE YOU ALRIGHT, MASTER? I'M SO SORRY--I REALLY AM--DID I CUT OFF YOUR FOOT?—DID I BURN A HUGE GAPING HOLE IN IT?—MASTER—WHY AREN'T YOU ROLLING AROUND IN AGONY?—SHOULD I LEAVE IT IN THERE, OR PULL IT OUT?"** he cried hysterically.

Obi-Wan studied his apprentice somewhat quizzically. "Padawan, I am fine".

Now, Jedi aren't supposed to lie. In this case, Obi-Wan did. He wasn't fine. There was, and still is, a scorch mark in the shape of Yoda's head on Obi-Wan's toe.

However, unwritten Jedi law accepts the use of the 'little white lie' when one's apprentice is on the verge of needing a straightjacket, so we'll let this one go.

Anyway, upon the declaration from his master, Anakin visibly deflated, relieved to the point of resembling a week-old balloon.

"However…" Obi-Wan continued, calmly, to avoid another spastic outburst on behalf of his apprentice "we do still have a problem".

"Huh…?" a thoroughly exhausted Anakin said nervously.

The Jedi responded by stepping out of his mauled boot and attempting, unsuccessfully, to pick it up. "My boot is stuck to the ground", he observed sagely.

Anakin withdrew his lightsaber from the ravaged footwear and deactivated it sheepishly. The melted sole of the boot had fused to the smooth marble floor of the Jedi Temple.

Anakin tried forcibly to yank the boot off the ground, to no avail. "This is not the correct way to go about problem-solving, Padawan mine", Obi-Wan sighed.

Upon the comment from his master, young Skywalker was struck with an idea. He surveyed the hall quickly, and found it empty; most of the other Jedi had cleared out after Anakin's first minor disaster.

Anakin motioned for his master to come closer. Obi-Wan leaned in, curious of his Padawan's intentions. "Well…" Anakin said, stifling a mischievous snigger, "we could just…y'know….leave it here…"

Obi-Wan considered this briefly, and nodded to his apprentice. "From the mouth of the child comes wisdom", he murmured to himself.

And, so, wearing only one boot, Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin's shoulder and steered them both out of the hall to dinner.

* * *

Later that evening, as the Jedi who discovered and removed the solitary boot molded to the floor was trying to Force-squeegee the remnants of rubber off the marble, he came across something odd.

It was what looked like a charred bit of a sock, which wasn't too peculiar, aside from the fact that it was shaped remarkably like one Master Yoda's head…

* * *

A/N: Wow. This chapter kind of just flopped onto the internet. Forgive me, I promise more worthy fodder in the future. :) 


	3. Big Heads Kill

The Joys of Spare Time

**Chapter 3: **Big Heads Kill

**Setting:** Post-AotC, pre-RotS.

**Disclaimer:** Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I don't own Star Wars,

And due to artistic license I don't have to make this rhyme. HA!

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the wait, I really am. Just, with camp and Warped Tour (squeal) and other random crap, I had no tiiiiiiimeee Now, though, I promise I'll try for more regular updates, despite school.

**Randomidiot:** Actually, I'm more of a dudette, but whatever. Beggers can't be chosers! Thanks for reviewing every chapter.

**KrazywithaK:** Your comment made me so happy! And it swelled my head so much, I can't fit through the doorway!

Oh dear. Heh.

* * *

"What….is it?" Anakin Skywalker wondered aloud to the small rectangular objects in his master's palm.

"I was hoping you could tell me that", Obi-Wan remarked dryly towards his former Padawan, who could only offer an admonitory shrug. His master often received gifts on missions; people took a liking to him. These "gifts", however, being from a fairly primitive yet hostile planet, raised an eyebrow. Or two, because, no matter how hard he tried, Obi-Wan could never do that wiggly-eyebrow-thing.

The Master pressed on.

"I've done some extensive research, and, based on the observation that it is neither toxic nor combustible, I have concluded that it may be a candy of some sort".

He met Anakin's eye to find in it a familiar glint of mischief, a touch of a smile coming to the corners of his mouth.

"Only one way to find out".

* * *

_Several Days Earlier_

"May the Force be with you".

"And also with you, masters".

Obi-Wan bowed deeply to the holoprojected images of Yoda and the rest of the Jedi council before the transmission flickered to a close. Arfour burbled impatiently as the Jedi hopped gracefully onto the wing of his starfighter…only to trip on the hem of his robe and crash unceremoniously on the ground.

Glancing around to find that no one (besides Arfour, who really didn't count) had witnessed this spectacular display, Obi-Wan sighed heavily, dusting himself off and attempting once again to get into his transport without **(BAD PUN ALERT)** grievous (get it? Get it? Hahahaha!) injury.

Having accomplished this, Obi-Wan checked his controls with a single deft Force-sweep. Everything seemed in order—aside from a loose wire, and the floor of the cockpit being oddly sticky…

Obi-Wan stood and inspected the bottom of his boot to find it connected to the durasteel by a stretchy, pink strand of...

Well, he wasn't entirely sure of _what_ it was, but we'll cut him a break. His poor boots have been horribly abused for the past chapter, and now this.

Anyway, Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber, activated it, and sliced cleanly through the wobbly pink thing. Dousing his blade, he got down on his hands and knees to get a better look under the control panel. There, he found two small pink objects wrapped in wax paper, along with a note in a language unknown to him.

The Jedi, unwilling to touch the little rectangles himself, force-guided them onto the dashboard. As he went to follow them, however, he brushed against the broken wire…

Obi-Wan returned to the Jedi Temple that day wearing both a sour expression and a very bad hairdo.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Obi-Wan recognized immediately the odd consistency of the candy. So did his boot, albeit with much more resentment. Admittedly, it tasted sweet, especially for two Jedi used to blander fare. "Don't swallow", Obi-Wan reminded his Padawan sternly. Or, as sternly as is possible when eating candy. It had a peculiar way of making one feel as if they're doing something right.

Anakin made no verbal reply, but simply rolled his eyes and made a determined expression as he tried to blow a bubble. A miniscule pink sphere emerged before snapping loudly and startling both Jedi.

Finding this interesting, Obi-Wan tried for a bubble as well. His got to about the size of a ping-pong ball before deflating sadly. Anakin tried again, his bubble slightly larger.

It went like this for several minutes before they bother decided they were thoroughly bored with baby bubbles. It was time to take out the big guns.

Anakin inhaled deeply, employing the Force to increase the capacity of his lungs; he then properly positioned the wad of gum and blew, softly but steadily. His bubble grew to the size of a datapad before going limp with a soft _fwump._ Obi-Wan followed his lead, blowing a bubble to slightly hazardous dimensions.

This, dear reader, was where it stopped being an investigation and started becoming a testosterone-fueled 'macho-er-than-thou'-type shenanigan. Yes, I realize that 'macho-er' is not a word, but if you tilt your head sideways and squint one eye, it can pass for one.

Anakin, trying not to show his amazement at Obi-Wan's monstrous bubble, attempted to blow one of his own; however, his concentration had faltered, and the bubble-attempt was no better than his very first.

His expression smug, Obi-Wan capitalized upon his powers once again, using the Force equivalent of steroids on his unfortunate bubble to make it grow larger than any of it's predecessors; larger, even, than Obi-Wan's excessively large head!

However, due in part to the sheer overlarge-ness of Obi-Wan's head, both literally and metaphorically, the Force was getting sick of being played with…

* * *

The Force, like most other deities, doesn't mind lending power now and then to righteous individuals. It's a good guy. Force. Thing. Whatever.

What the Force _does_ mind is when those righteous people use it for not-so-righteous pursuits, such as bubble blowing. Then it gets angry.

Especially when the people using it have, for sake of sounding like a broken record, really big heads.

* * *

Obi-Wan's awesome bubble held it's shape for a single, glorious parsec before obliterating all over Obi-Wan's face.

It was truly spectacular.

Thoroughly amused by the sight of his master in a sticky pink wrapper, Anakin burst into uncharacteristically high-pitched, hysterical laughter.

This confused Obi-Wan even more than the fact that he was now seeing pink. Was it really funny enough to make his uber-masculine Padawan laugh like a little girl?

But let us not forget that Anakin also used the force to blow obscenely large bubbles. He had to be punished as well.

The Padawan's laughter subsided long enough for him to mime blowing a bubble and having it explode all over him.

But it wasn't quite a mime, seeing as how it actually happened.

"What do we do now?" said Pink!Obi-Wan dully to Pink!Anakin. Pink!Anakin lowered his pink!head and observed grimly, "there's no way I can get it out of my hair". Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. His pink!hair had joined his boot in the crusade against anything remotely resembling bubblegum.

Obi-Wan looked up at his Pink!Padawan, who retuned his gaze with stolid dtermination.

"We'll have to shave".

* * *

Two cloaked figures traipsed side-by-side through the Temple Gardens. Crisis had brought them closer, and they had abandoned the typical master-padawan formation. They were equal now, down to every last hair on their heads.

Or lack-thereof.

At least Mace Windu was delighted. His hairdo had finally come into style.

* * *

A/N: Oh. My. God. What is wrong with me? xD 


	4. Graceful Aging

**The Joys of Spare Time**

**Chapter Four:** Graceful Aging

**Setting:** Post-ROTS, pre-ANH

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on how you feel about this crack fic) I don't own Star Wars. I do, however, own a massive store of writer's block that of course only comes around at the most inconvenient times. I also own a shortage of free time. Sad, innit?

Review Responses!

**Tara:** I love you too! licks

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**Vaders apprentice darth squishy:** Great name, and thanks muchly for reviewing.

**Hiho:** Don't worry about it; my parents think _I'm_ on drugs when they read my fics. Pshaw.

**I Am Kurama:** Ooh. Buuuurn. xD

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi couldn't believe his eyes.

"I can't believe my eyes", he exclaimed, thus making a prime example of his excessively annoying habit of stating the obvious. In response to this, R2-D2 rolled it's eye-sensor-thingamajig (because, really, what are we supposed to call it anyway?) exasperatedly. In the three years he had been stuck with the exiled Jedi, he had learned that Obi-Wan had a tendency to make a fuss over nothing. He assumed this was simply more of the same.

Or so he thought.

Obi-Wan stood before the rectangular mirror on the wall of the 'fresher, his eyes (which he still couldn't believe, by the way) widened in a anguish. The subject of his anguish being a hair, falling low on his forehead and standing out garishly in a ginger lock.

Well, mostly ginger. For, you see, Obi-Wan had come to a gargantuan milestone in his life; in the life of every human-- Jedi, Darth Polyester, or otherwise.

He had gotten his first gray hair.

Obi-Wan froze.

His world exploded.

…

Well, not really, although; it did sound pretty awesome, no?

Anyway, he was pretty upset, but his world didn't explode or anything. Obi-Wan didn't consider himself _that_ much of a wimp.

He had, however, considered himself a graceful ager; youthful, even! That is, he had…_before_ the hair. Even as he stared unhappily at it, it seemed to glint manically in the Tatooine sunslight. It seemed unstoppable, invincible, bright as light itself—

Obi-Wan pulled the drapes shut.

The hair dulled. _That's better._ However, it was only a matter of time until either threat of suffocation in the stifling hut or, even more dangerous, boredom forced him to confront the hair again, so he'd have to come up with a solution quickly.

He grinned evilly into the mirror, which would have been a perfectly suitable end to a scene, except for the fact that the mirror, at that moment, decided to conveniently shatter both itself and Obi-Wan's self-confidence simultaneously (and what a horrendous noise the latter made! Like a brain imploding, or something).

Coming to terms with the fact that any attempt to act cool would result in minor catastrophe made him feel no better. I mean, he never even got the chance to make a dramatic (if corny) entrance any more!

Still, there was a problem to be solved. A gray, unfortunate problem, which really wouldn't be such a problem at all if Obi-Wan wasn't such an obsessive-compulsive prick. Really.

However, the whole neatness complex, much like the gray hair, was not about to up and leave. Which would be pretty cool, if you think about it. But that's beside the point. The point was, I believe, that Obi-Wan needed to take action if he wanted that hair out of his otherwise boring exile.

The former Jedi reached into the Force, granting him boundless peace and serenity. Doubtless, he would need it for the stunt he was about to attempt.

Resting a surprisingly steady hand on Artoo's cranial dome (bet you were wondering where he's been) for support, he raised the other to his forehead.

Or, more specifically, the hair. He held it hesitantly between his thumb and forefinger, gritted his teeth, and pulled.

* * *

All things forsaken, our dear Obi-Wan Kenobi is a fairly stoic guy (when he's not being annoyingly cynical or emo). Therefore, it must have taken a pretty big shock to make him wince and shout several expletives vulgar enough to make Artoo short-circuit.

But, hey, at least that blasted hair was gone.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Obi-Wan flopped down on the musty sleepcouch and, to speed the plot a little bit, decided to take a nap. Which he did. Thank the Force for plot devices.

* * *

As it's previous bearer slept peacefully, a lone gray hair floated conspiratorially about the apartment. It had been removed in the prime of it's life(hair-?)span, and it was angry. This hair, which for further plot advancement we will name Glen, decided that revenge was in order. Being from a force-sensitive human, Glen also enjoyed the benefits of the Force, and thus used it to influence not only the follicle from which it came, but also it's neighbors. And so it plotted.

* * *

Obi-Wan cracked a bleary eye open as the first rays of Tatooine's suns began to filter through the flimsy shades. Slightly surprised that he had slept so late, he rose and shuffled to the 'fresher, where he found a plethora of shattered glass, amongst which Glen lay innocently.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the mirror was repaired. He peered lazily into it's repeating depths, not paying much attention into anything in particular, aside from how good he looked without that gray hair..

"Wait." He said aloud. Something_—_well, more like_ several_ somethings—glittered slyly at his scalp. The original gray hair wasn't there, but at least five others had taken it's place! Now, Obi-Wan's world wasn't gonna explode this time either, but it was getting pretty tight at the seams, for sure.

He groaned in a very un-Jedi manner, but paid it no heed, because at that moment he had become even more vain than his former Padawan, who, he remembered fondly, used to "secretly" apply mascara and lipgloss before going out in public ("You never know when those HoloNet people will show up!").

He frowned deeply before the mirror, his brow creased with thought. However, the crease did not disappear with the frown, as it usually did. With an exasperated exhalation, he leaned against the wall in favor of the looking glass. He didn't want to get **_too_** melodramatic; from extensive experience he knew the consequences (shattering mirrors, yet more gray hairs, worlds exploding, ect. ect.).

"It seems that worrying about getting old only speeds the process", Obi-Wan said dazedly, considering the newly deepened wrinkle (that happened to intersect one of his other large insecurities—that uncomfortably apparent mole on his forehead). Upon stating this, however, he noticed something odd about Artoo (aside from the fact that he was sparking like a matchstick, that is), a message from an unknown party. Curious, he pushed the TRANSMIT button.

A holoprojected image appeared before Obi-Wan of a miniscule strand of gray hair, short but standing quite proud. Assuming that hair can stand. Which it probably can't, but hey, the time it took to rebuild the Death Star didn't make sense either. So there.

Anyway, the hair suddenly extended itself to a miraculous length, curving and twisting bizarrely. It seemed to be…writing something; in Republic Basic, unless Obi-Wan was mistaken, which he wasn't (at least, this time around). It finished, and the Jedi read the words:

HAHAHA! WHO'S LAUGHING NOW? LOVE GLEN.

"You are!" Obi-Wan said brightly, and closed the transmission. He would not converse with a hair, especially his own gray one. Besides, it was the hair's fault for being there in the first place, right?

And now he had a wrinkle. Joy.

Turning to the still-smoking astromech, Obi-Wan said mildly, "Artoo? I need a search done". The droid managed a feeble squeak. Taking this as an affirmation, the Jedi continued. "Please list for me the nearby convenience stores which are stocked with GalaxyMan hair dye in…hmmm…Wampa grey. I'd best get it all over and done with".

Artoo simply offered a _whoop_ and processed the request. Sometimes it was better not to ask.

* * *

A/N: Wow, did this one really drag, or was it just me? I'm sorry; if it doesn't quite live up to previous chapters, but I'm lucky I even managed to get on the computer. Until next time, then!

--Jax

Reviews are greatly appreciated!


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